


the body electric

by bookhobbit



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Autism, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Overload, meltdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:52:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Norrell has an unpleasant episode. Featuring autistic!Norrell with sensory overload.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the body electric

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a couple of days ago, am now posting it as a vent fic...even though it was only sort of written as one? Idk. Kink meme fill again but not really shippy unless you want it to be.
> 
> Definitely based a lot on my own experience in some areas. I mean, details defer, but those are for sure my meltdown emotions. So. Yeah. Ventfic. With a vaguely inappropriate title, but hey to me hypersensitivity feels like your skin's full of lightning and meltdowns feel like a storm, so.

Mr Norrell's senses were very peculiar to-day.

It must be confessed in the interest of honesty that Mr Norrell's senses were always peculiar, by the lights of other men. Many things troubled him which did not seem to upset any one else he knew. Most people did not, for example, find the texture of a beef stew disagreeable in the extreme. Most people did not have the entirely undignified urge to raise their hands to their ears and begin shaking their head violently when more than one person tried to talk to them at once.

Mr Norrell found both of these things and more difficult to countenance even on the best of days. This, however, was not the best of days.

He had been at a dinner-party the preceding night; it had been noisy, crowded, and unpleasant in the extreme. He had felt pressed on all sides by people, smelled perfume and cologne that was dizzyingly strong, heard an endless buzz of noise that blended together to become one large and horrible cacophony. In these circumstances he found himself half-expecting an episode, and was therefore unsurprised to find it the case. Unsurprised, but certainly displeased as well, for he had much to do with Mr Strange today and had a suspicion he would not be able to complete it, not if this went on as it usually did. 

Childermass came silently into his room soon after he woke, as was his wont. "Shall I shave you, sir?" he asked.

Mr Norrell shivered. "No," he said, "I shall do it myself. I do not wish to be touched to-day."

Childermass nodded and left Mr Norrell's clothes out for him to put on. He shaved - ungentlemanly though it was to shave oneself, Mr Norrell often found it necessary on days such as this - and dressed himself to the degree that he was able, but he could not seem to get his waistcoat buttoned straight. The buttons and the holes did not seem to align satisfactorily and the texture of the material against his fingertips felt horribly unsettling. It was not that it was suddenly rougher than yesterday's waistcoat; both were the same plain wool. But to-day, it seemed to scrape and cling to fingers alive with nerves.

He called for Childermass, who came and silently did up the buttons without having to be asked. Then he held Mr Norrell's coat for him to put on, with the greatest care not to touch him.

At breakfast, his porridge was too hard; he could not eat it. A maid brought him another bowl, cooked further, but this was too soft and slimey and he could not finish it either. Mr Norrell complained, as was his wont, but nothing could be done about it. He tried some dried fruit instead, but found it tough and leathery on his tongue, and he was unable to swallow more than a mouthful.

Mr Norrell entered his library to find a maid building a fire. The sound of coals scraping against coals made him wince and he had to fight the urge to stop his ears. "Quietly," he snapped at her.

He sat in his favorite chair in front of the fire when she was gone, eyes closed. His wig felt scratchy on his head, his coat too loose on his body, but these were minor irritations and could be borne. He took a deep breath and found the book he wished to investigate.

Strange arrived at around ten o'clock, as was his wont. He greeted Mr Norrell cheerfully, but his voice seemed louder than was usual and had a grating quality that scraped across Mr Norrell's ears mostly unpleasantly. 

"I have slept poorly," said Mr Norrell, waving. "I am rather tired. Perhaps we might devote ourselves to quiet study to-day?"

"Of course," said Strange, fetching down the book he had been reading last time. Mr Norrell nodded and returned to his own book.

Occasionally Strange would stop to ask him a question, or pass some remark, but Mr Norrell felt equal to dealing with this. A brief surge of irritation swelled in him every time, but this was typical for peculiar days, and he was able to quell it by concentrating on the content of the inquiry. 

For a time, he was able to concentrate on his books and the occasional bits of conversation, and felt better. The unpleasantness of almost every sensation faded to a background hum, barely noticeable, as he lost himself in the subject he loved most, and he dared to hope that perhaps the day might not be so bad after all. 

Alas, these hopes were unfounded, for about one o'clock a great blight was brought upon his house. That is to say, he was visited by some society people on the coat-tails of Lascelles and Drawlight. 

Drawlight himself came to fetch Mr Norrell and Mr Strange, after Hannah had shewn them in.

"I am not feeling very well," said Mr Norrell, "Perhaps they might be contented with your company and that of Mr Strange's, if he will go."

"Oh! no," said Drawlight. "They are very eager to see the magicians. It does well for your public face, Mr Norrell. You know it does." 

Mr Norrell sighed, for it seemed that much of what he had to do these days for his public face was tiresome and vexing. Not for the first time, he wished for the privacy of his study in Hurtfew. But Jonathan was getting up and putting his books in order, and so he did the same. It did not do to leave things out of place.

As soon as he had gone into the hall, all the peace and quiet of the library evaporated. Two tall men wandered over and began to talk to him about the party last night, or so Mr Norrell assumed. They seemed to be saying contradictory things about it and he did not know who to agree with. He thanked them for their time and moved on, only to find himself within a small circle of gentlemen with loud voices who seemed to be particular friends of Lascelles. They asked him several questions, one after the other, all in the most mocking of tones, until he felt that his head was spinning round. He fled to the corner and for some time he was safe there, but soon Drawlight came over with two or three of what he called intimate acquaintances, who were introduced and all began talking at once about what great things they had heard about the magicians, and about how they were sure Mr Norrell was a most impressive personage and that they were glad to be visiting him.

To his shame and horror he found his hands shaking, the urge to lift them and block out the noise almost irresistible. There was a roaring in his ears and he felt dizzy, lost on a sea of sound he could not separate into individual voices. Suddenly he knew, with the clarity he always did just before it happened, that he would have a fit, and he could not bear for someone to see it or sense its coming.

"If you will excuse me," he muttered and bolted towards the library without another word.

He could hear murmuring behind him at this odd behavior, but in his state he could not make out any words. Everything sounded like noise.

He slammed the door behind him and sat in his favourite chair for a moment, breathing heavily and trying to collect himself. But the library was no good; he might rip one of the books if it got too bad; he had to leave, which meant going past the hallway full of people again. At this thought he began to shake again.

The door creaked open; Mr Norrell felt himself start. Then Jonathan's voice came.

"Sir? Are you quite alright, Mr Norrell?"

"I - I - I am - " he began, and found he could not properly speak. This was not atypical for his fits, but it was frustrating in the extreme, and only made him feel worse. 

Strange came around to the chair, and put his hand out as if to touch Mr Norrell's shoulder. Mr Norrell flinched back.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Strange, withdrawing.

"Ch - get Ch-Childermass, get Childermass - " said Norrell with effort, teeth chattering. Strange nodded and vacated the room, returning very shortly with Childermass, who immediately knelt down to speak to Mr Norrell. He did not attempt touch him, for which Mr Norrell was grateful. 

"He was very close," said Strange to Norrell with an edge of alarm. "I hardly had to look at all."

Childermass shot Strange a glance, and then murmured to Mr Norrell, "I thought this might happen. Come, sir, let's get you to bed. I shall take your arm, if you do not object."

Mr Norrell nodded and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

"Mr Strange," said Childermass, "If you would please either distract or see to the door anyone who is not part of the staff."

"Of course." Strange fled, and soon Norrell could hear him talking to people in his usual lively way outside the door of the library.

After the noise had died down, Childermass guided him out the library, past the now-empty foyer and to his bedroom. When Norrell sat down on the bed, he said, "Will you require anything else of me?" 

Mr Norrell shook his head, and Childermass left, closing the door firmly behind him. 

And then Mr Norrell went to pieces, finally, properly, fully. He was trembling all over, he could not stop. It was a great relief to let go of the control he had been holding so tightly. For a time he was focused entirely on the pain. Great waves of rage welled over him, and he tore at the blankets, though he was not strong enough to damage them. The memory of the many voices washed over him and made him shake his head rapidly to clear it, so quickly that he felt dizzy. The lost, overwhelmed feeling that had haunted him the entire day filled him and made him punch at the bed with his fists. He was silent at first, for he was sure there were still some people in the house, at least Lascelles or Drawlight, and he did not want him to hear; but soon he muffled his face in his pillow and made such noises of frustration and anger as he felt he could safely express.

It was never entirely clear to him why he was unable to stop himself doing these things when this happened, or why they seemed to help. But after a period - though long or short he could not have judged - the pain drained away and he felt better. He was shaky still and exhausted from the unaccustomed exertion, and his nerves still felt tender, but he no longer had any urge to scream or kick, and the power of speech had returned, though his throat felt rusty and ill-used.

He opened the door to his room to find Childermass there, leaning against the opposite wall with his usual nonchalance. "Mr Strange wants to see you," he said.

Mr Norrell nodded, and followed Childermass through the now-silent foyer to the library, where Strange was sitting and reading a book. When he saw Mr Norrell, he sprang to his feet.

"You are better, sir," he said, with evident relief.

"I simply needed a rest," said Mr Norrell. "I have been a touch ill. Lying quietly was the only solution."

"Of course," said Strange. "Do these - er, tired moods, often happen?"

Mr Norrell felt his stomach curdle at the tone of Strange's inquiry. "They happen only when I have not had sufficient rest. You need not worry yourself about me." He drew himself up, still tightly-strung enough to want an argument, but Childermass laid a hand on his shoulder. He took a breath. "I am fine, sir. But I think that perhaps you might find it best to go home. Take your book, make notes of any questions you may have."

Strange nodded, and hesitated. "I am glad you are well," he said. "I shall see you tomorrow." He seemed to be on the point of something else, but instead he said, "Childermass, could you help me on with my coat?"

"Of course," said Childermass, and they went from the room.

Mr Norrell sighed, and waited for Childermass to return. When he did, he said, "What did he ask?"

"Just what he asked you, if you had these regularly, and whether they were a sign of something else. I said they were not frequent and were from exhaustion, since that is what you said." He shrugged. "He asked what he should do if you had another one."

"To which you said?"

"To fetch me, and then leave you to yourself, being sure not to touch you."

Mr Norrell nodded, and Childermass bowed. "If there's nothing else," he said.

"There is," said Mr Norrell. "I - that is to say - " He found himself twisting his coat again, and stopped. "It is very good of you to help me, Childermass."

Childermass smiled, bowed, and went about his affairs, and Mr Norrell resumed the business of getting himself back to normal.


End file.
